Willing Captive
by Chanooa
Summary: Matt isn't a bad guy, he's just had a rough past. Scott and Danny learn this after they buy him out of the sex trade and try to set him free. (no smut, really, but still...descriptive)
1. Chapter 1

**AU in which...this stuff happens...just go with it, okay? It's a little dark, but it's hurt/comfort.**

Matt took a deep breath, hoping the inhalation would help with the pain he was experiencing. It did little to stop the stinging feeling in his rear. "Four," he grunted out, clenching his teeth as his neck muscles tightened involuntarily.

He felt his entire body tense as the next swing came down, his boyfriend's hand landing on his ass with a painful thwack. His the redness in his cheeks continued to burn with humiliation as he felt his cheeks jiggle, which he was sure Jackson was enjoying. The entire situation was humiliating; he was bent over his boyfriend's lap in the kitchen, his pants and underwear around his ankles as Jackson held onto his hair with one hand, spanking him like a child with the other. "Five," he said, closing his eyes.

_The thick hand landed once again on his ass, sending waves of pain through his body. "Six," he counted out, gripping his stepfather's pants beneath him. He fought the urge to cry, though every sense in his body was telling him otherwise. He would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Instead, he focused on the pattern of the couch beneath them, following the lines of the plaid as they crossed one another. He curled his toes, inhaling sharply through his nose, forcing his body to keep from vomiting. A hard hand made contact with his red, bare skin once again. "Seven."_

_ "Alright, I think that's enough," the thick, burly man said, relaxing his posture as Matt released the death grip on his pants and stood. "I hope you learned your lesson, though."_

_ "Yes sir," Matt said, the redness in his face matching his ass as he saw his step-father's eyes inadvertently flicker down to his exposed privates. He wanted badly to pull his pants and underwear up to cover himself, but he knew that if he did, the man would probably choose to spank him again._

_ "I want to hear you say it, Matt," his stepfather responded forcefully, sounding as if he was scolding the boy._

_ Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Matt looked into his stepfather's eyes. "I promise that I won't take your car without your permission again," he recited bitterly, doing his best to hide the venom in his voice._

_ "Good," he said with a nod. He hesitated a moment, his eyes flickering over the half-naked form before him, taking in the flaccid, uncut four inches engulfed in a sea of curly, dark pubes. He'd watched the boy develop from a little kid into a man, and he started to worry how much longer he could hold his power over someone old enough to drive. "Get yourself cleaned up and go get dinner ready."_

_ "Yes, sir," Matt said submissively, turning his back as he pulled up his pants. His stepfather snuck in one last glance at his hairy, red ass before it was modestly covered._

_ "And son?" the man said, casting him a meaningful glance as the boy turned around. "Remember that this is for your own good."_

_ "Yes sir," Matt said, nodding sullenly as he turned around and headed toward the kitchen. He honestly had no future plans to take the man's car without his permission again. He'd only taken it as a last resort. Jackson got called into work, so he could come over to pick up Matt's luggage, and the previous night had been the only time his stepfather would be out without his car._

_ He and Jackson had been planning Matt's escape for weeks, and tonight was supposed to be his last night living alone with the man his mother had married shortly before her death. He'd adopted the kid, and raised him as his own. This meant that he'd received brutal punishments for next to nothing for the past ten years. From the time he was seven, he'd never been allowed to leave the house, he'd never been allowed friends, he'd never been allowed to work or gain any independence except for school. Essentially, his stepfather had kept a tight leash on the boy, using him for chores and errands. The man had never actually tried to do anything sexual with his stepson, but he clearly enjoyed the constant beatings and humiliations as more than just methods of teaching Matt._

_ When his mother was alive, he'd never do anything too outrageous. Only after her death did he __get creative and cruel with his punishments, as well as doling them out much more frequently. The two were basically strangers, since his mother had died only a year into their marriage in a drunk driving accident. Unfortunately, she'd been the one drinking. Her husband had been in the car with her, also drunk, but left with only minor injuries. He'd adopted her child in order to avoid a charge of accessory to manslaughter; it was much more difficult to send a man to jail when he was the only family of a young child._

_ At first, he just dealt out more punishments than usual, unsure of how to be a parent. As time passed, he grew to liking the power it gave him over his stepson, and he started doling out punishments for smaller things more frequently. They became more creative, too, often involving an element of humiliation. He was frequently spanked, as well as whipped, beaten, forced outside naked in the cold, stripped, and starved. It only occurred to Matt that this was unusual one day in his freshman year of high school, when he referenced the fact that he'd been spanked the night before. His friends all got quiet, and someone asked him if his father really still spanked him. He said he was joking, and everyone laughed, but Matt started noticing that he was probably too old for such things. In the same year, he stopped associating with the few friends he had. This occurred when his friends came to pick him up one day before he'd finished the dishes. His father forced him to go out into the snow while completely naked, run to their car and tell them that he couldn't go. Luckily, the situation was so awkward that they never told anyone._

_ For the rest of his time in high school, he rarely talked to anyone and never went out after school. He was afraid of being embarrassed in front of them, and didn't think anyone would understand his situation. He was much too scared to ever tell anyone, so he suffered through it. In his senior year, he realized that he didn't know how he was going to afford college. He brought the subject up to his father, and the man informed him that he would not be going to college. That night, Matt both realized that there would be no end to this if he didn't do something, and decided that he was going to do something to end it._

_ Fortunately, around the same time, a boy in one of his classes started talking to him. He was the only person that ever really tried to talk to Matt, and was persistent yet gentle enough to manage to get to be friends with the boy. Everyone was shocked when they saw Jackson Whittemore, who was exceedingly popular, rich, and had a job as a model after school, talking to Matt Whats-his-face, the creepy guy that never talked. After Matt confided his secret in Jackson, the boy convinced him that he didn't have to put up with it anymore. He could live with Jackson until they finished their senior year, then move to New York with him after graduation. Jackson would make money from modeling, and Matt could go to school._

_ They assumed his stepfather wouldn't do anything to get him back, since he would be too afraid of involving the police in their relationship. And so Matt cooked his stepfather one last meal, received one last beating for making the asparagus too raw, watched his father get drunk and pass out one last time, then rode off with Jackson, never to look back._

"Ten," he said weakly, wincing as the pain radiated from his ass. He could tell that this was going to leave quite a mark, and he wouldn't be able to sit without thinking of it for at least a week.

"Alright, I think that's enough," Jackson said, letting go of Matt's hair, and quickly standing so that the half naked boy fell from his lap and onto the floor. A boner was tenting Jackson's expensive jeans as he looked down at the man laying on the ground. He put a foot on his throat. "And remember this next time you RSVP us to a party without asking me first."

"Yes sir," Matt said, curling up and hoping that Jackson was done for the moment. The man removed his foot from his boyfriend's throat, walking away to get changed. Matt sat up and righted his clothes. He chastised himself for telling Jackson right after he got home; he was always the most violent after a day at work.

Standing up, he moved the chair where Jackson had been sitting back to the kitchen table, moving around to prepare dinner. His mind began wandering over where he'd gone wrong, how he'd ended up in the exact same situation as he'd been in with his father. In the past five years, things had gone much differently from the plans he was promised. He and Jackson lived for a few months in a wonderland, going to school and coming home together, going to parties, having sex, and generally enjoying life. After graduation, things changed.

They both moved to New York City, where Jackson pursued modeling. This didn't make nearly enough money, since he was relatively inexperienced, so he had to take on another job. Matt's stepfather hadn't filed taxes in years, so he ran into some obstacles while trying to get financial aide from any college in the area. Furthermore, since nobody would cosign any loans, he wasn't able to get enough money together to go to school. Rather than letting Matt work, Jackson instead followed a job offer back into the suburbs. There, he worked as the manager of a hardware store, which he was promised would be lucrative. This turned out to be true, and he managed to open his own store. However, the work was hard and he was faced every day with his failed modeling career when he came home to see the man he'd promised to be successful for.

This quickly turned to rage. At first, he would just yell at Matt a lot. If he came home to find dishes in the sink, or a full garbage can, he would go off and list reasons why Matt was worthless. He never allowed his boyfriend to get a job, however. He said that he needed someone to take care of the house, and took it as an insult to his masculinity and ability to provide whenever Matt brought up the financial benefits of both of them working. Eventually, Jackson started getting violent. He would throw things, and sometimes he would hit Matt. This became more frequent, as did several other forms of subjugation and embarrassment. He was only allowed to be friends with the wives of Jackson's business friends, he couldn't go out on his own, he had to ask permission before spending any money, he had to do everything that Jackson asked or face a beating, and he wasn't allowed to go on the computer.

He also had many of the same punishments as his stepfather had given him, though the added sex made everything just that much worse. Jackson often beat him, spanked him, stripped him, and put him in humiliating situations, but this was also often followed by or incorporated in very rough sex. Jackson usually got off during or after these situations, though Matt was only rarely allowed to achieve orgasm. When they first started making love, back in high school, it was wonderful and beautiful. Now it had turned into another way for Matt to be demeaned. Having been forced into submission for the majority of his life, Matt easily slipped into the role of the punching bag. He barely even noticed how bad it was until his life was nearly the same as when he'd left his stepfather.

He still rarely talked to anyone other than Jackson. He had no friends, and only socialized at parties involved with Jackson's work. At these events, he was still usually demeaned, with Jackson making jokes at his expense and telling inappropriate stories to embarrass him. Sometimes, usually only if he was drunk, Jackson even put his boyfriend into humiliating situations, like his father had. He would grope Matt, or rip his clothes, or yell at him. Once while they were leaving a party, when he was particularly drunk and particularly angry, he held Matt down and ripped off all of his clothes, driving off with them. Matt had to go back to the party, explain the situation and get a cab back to his house. Jackson was even more cruel than his stepfather, though he often lacked the creativity.

"Don't burn that now, it cost good money," Jackson said, peering over Matt's shoulder. The man snapped out of his thoughts, noticing that the pork chops he was frying were nearly done. "My good money," Jackson muttered as he padded off to the living room with a cold beer.

Matt watched as he went. A diet of beer and pork chops mixed with a lack of exercise had robbed Jackson of his model-like good looks; now he was 23 and already getting doughy and hunched over. Matt quickly finished the meal, doling it out onto two plates and quietly informing the man in front of the tv that dinner was ready when he wanted it. Matt sat at the table, silently waiting for when Jackson decided to come and eat. After a few minutes, the man, now clad in a wife-beater and sweat shorts, took his beer over to the dinner table.

"How was your day?" Matt asked as they both started eating. He'd learned how much conversation was appropriate for Jackson, and now had a fairly practiced script for dinner.

"Shitty," Jackson replied, as he often did. "A manager dropped an entire box of lightbulbs, and one of the registers turned up fifty dollars short."

Matt didn't respond, as he'd learned that anything he could say would only make Jackson angrier. Instead, he changed the subject. "Your aunt called today to say-" Matt started, interrupted by the man slamming his utensils down on the table.

"You fucking burned the god damned meat," he said calmly. Matt's stomach dropped in terror as he recognized the dark tone. This wasn't just his usual anger, but an indication that he was in a dark, depressed slump in which he was particularly violent. "I told you it cost good fucking money. Now it's worthless!"

As he said the last word, Jackson hurdled the plate across the room, clipping Matt in the temple before it smashed against a wall, mashed potatoes, green beans, and ceramic flying in every direction as blood trickled down Matt's aching forehead. The submissive man tried to remedy the situation with logic, which sometimes worked. "I'll still eat it, I won't waste it!" Matt said, hurriedly digging his utensils into the meat and shoving a piece in his mouth. It didn't taste burned to him.

"No, no, we aren't eating your shitty burned meat!" Jackson cried, standing up on his chair. Matt continued eating, trying desperately to avoid Jackson flying off the handle. In his rage, the slightly drunken man dropped his sweats to the ground, taking hold of his cock and aiming a stream of acrid yellow piss right onto Matt's plate. Urine mixed in with the potatoes, turning them yellow, as well as bathing the beans and meat. Some splashed onto Matt, and Jackson began aiming his stream directly onto the man, eventually finishing while soaking his face.

Matt was still for a moment, trying not to cry while sitting at his dinner table, covered in piss. "I'm sorry I ruined your meal," he said slowly, his tone measured as he tried not to betray his emotions.

Jackson pulled up his shorts and brought the phone and phonebook over to the piss-soaked man. "Order a fucking pizza, and tell them that you're too stupid to make a decent meal yourself," Jackson said.

Matt opened his mouth to question the man, then looked at his eyes and thought better, taking the objects and dialing the number. After a few rings, someone answered the phone. "Hello, I'd like to place an order for delivery," Matt said, his voice shaking.

"Is the address still the same for this phone number?" a perky voice asked on the other end.

"Yes, it is," he said evenly, clenching the leg of his chair with his other hand to keep from crying.

"Alright, what can I get for you?" the person asked cheerily. Matt's mind flashed quickly over the thought of how much he'd rather be there, on the other end where the girl sounded happy.

"Uhm, I'd like a large peperoni thick crust with extra cheese..." Matt said, looking up at his angry and expectantly looking boyfriend "...because I'm too stupid to make a decent meal."

Jackson's face spread into a satisfied smile as the voice on the other line stopped for a moment, unsure of how to go on. "Y-Your total will be twelve fifty, and it should be there in ten to fifteen minutes," she chirped, an edge of awkwardness infiltrating her voice.

"Thank you," Matt said, quickly hanging up.

"Now," Jackson said in a cruel tone, "why don't you get out of those wet clothes?"

Matt stood, obeying as he slipped off the urine-soaked shirt. His pants and underwear quickly followed, comprehending the man's real meaning. Jackson stared at him in the face for a moment, then smacked him. The blow hurt, sending Matt's head reeling to the side. He stood his ground, knowing how much worse it would be if he gave up too easily. Jackson grabbed his hairy balls, pulling Matt toward him by his sensitive spot as he repelled him with punches to the gut from the other hand. Matt offered sounds of pain, not too loud or too quiet, just the right volume to please his abuser. Jackson let go of his testicles, pushing him with both hands onto the ground. Matt sprawled, and Jackson picked up his beer and went to the tv.

Matt knew what he was expected to do, and followed the man into the living room, leaving his clothes behind as he sat on the sofa, looking at the tv without really seeing it. He analyzed his wounds; his forehead had stopped bleeding, and didn't hurt too much, so he probably didn't have a concussion. His stomach hurt where it had been punched, and he figured he'd have some minor bruising, as well as a fairly noticeable bruise on his cheek. The doorbell rang, and he stood, collecting his clothes from the kitchen floor.

"You know what? Leave them this time," Jackson said, looking over at the man. Matt was surprised, since the man wasn't usually into public humiliation except for that one time at the party. He looked over at Jackson, who seemed to sober to explain his unusual cruelty away. The man sat up in his armchair. "In fact, get the money and step out of the door. Hand the pizza guy the money and tell him that you're naked because you're a whore."

"Wha- Yes sir," Matt said, correcting himself when he saw the devilish glint in Jackson's eye. The man turned around in his chair to get a good view through the window as Matt walked toward the door.

"And no tipping!" he yelled before the man opened the front door and stepped out into the night.

It was a warm evening, and the sun was still setting, giving enough illumination to clearly take in Matt's form. The pizza boy did a double take as he looked up from his receipt. He eyed the man's body for a good moment, taking in the sight of the slender, hairy form. "I-I have a large peperoni with extra cheese," the boy said, his eyes fixated on the man's exposed crotch. "It- It's $12.50."

Matt knew the boy. He lived in the neighborhood and was the son of one of Jackson's older work associates. His dad owned a paper mill, and hosted lots of parties, so they'd seen each other several times before. They'd even talked once, so he knew the cute young blonde was eighteen and a senior in high school. He hoped desperately that the boy would never find himself in the same situation.

He handed the young man the money, with a generous tip that Jackson would hopefully never find out about. "Keep the change," he muttered quietly as he took the pizza from the boy's hands. "And... And I'm naked because I'm a whore."

"What?" the boy asked, his cute face contorted in confusion.

Matt glanced toward the window to see Jackson's happy face nodding for him to continue. "I said I'm naked because I'm a whore," he said louder, knowing Jackson was probably squealing with glee that he had to repeat himself.

"Oh, okay, well have a nice day," the boy said, walking away looking very confused.

Matt came back inside, setting the pizza down on the dry part of the kitchen table and taking out new plates. He knew that he wouldn't be able to clean up the mess until early tomorrow morning, after Jackson had a chance to fuck him but before he came downstairs and saw the mess. Jackson came into the kitchen, scratching his stomach as he flipped open the pizza box.

"So you know why you're a whore, right?" Jackson asked, picking up a piece of pizza and biting a large chunk from it. "Because I know you're fucking someone else," Jackson said through a full mouth.

Matt froze. Who else would he be having sex with? "Why do you think that?" Matt asked, confused.

"Because," Jackson said, stepping close so that his pizza breath was on the man's face, "I haven't let you cum in a week and you haven't asked me yet."

Matt held the man's gaze. The truth was he had just gotten used to it, but he knew that sometimes Jackson got ideas like this into his head. It explained his especially cruel behavior. "I promise that I would never cheat on you," he said earnestly, his eyes locked on his boyfriend's. "I could never find anyone better."

Jackson grabbed the man by the neck, pulling him up on all fours onto the table. His head was right over the pizza, and Jackson moved around to look at his ass. "Put your face down and open your cheeks," the man commanded. Matt reluctantly set his face onto the greasy pizza, feeling the hot cheese on his bruised cheek as he exposed himself. He felt Jackson's clumsy fingers poke and prod his anus, presumably checking for signs of cheating. "Alright, maybe you're telling the truth."

As Jackson said this, however, he stood on the table, getting onto his knees as he dropped his sweats once again. "I think I'll just remind you of how good you got it, though," he said, spitting onto the boy's hole.

Suddenly, something snapped inside of Matt. He saw himself from the outside, naked and face down in a pizza on a urine-soaked table, showing his asshole to an asshole, about to have sex that he didn't want, trapped in a loveless and abusive relationship with no hope of change or escape, humiliated and degraded, with no fulfillment. The thought of Jackson putting his cock inside of him suddenly seemed like the single most repulsive thing imaginable.

"No," Matt said, raising his face out of the box.

"What the fuck did you-" Jackson started, caught off guard by Matt's unexpected swipe at his knees, sending him sprawling from the table onto the floor. He landed on his back with a thud.

"NO!" Matt screamed, jumping off of the table and kicking Jackson in the stomach. The man on the ground didn't move, totally unsure of what to do. Before he even had a chance to think about it, Matt took the kettle from the stove and dropped it on Jackson's head. The man was knocked unconscious, confused up until the last second.

Adrenaline pumping rapidly through his veins, Matt ran through the house, collecting everything that he might need in a backpack before Jackson would wake up. He packed fifty dollars that he found in Jackson's wallet, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few items of clothing. He quickly washed the urine and pizza off of his body before dressing. Zipping up his backpack as he ran down the stairs, Matt found the reality of the situation settling into his brain at last. He had almost no money, no friends, nowhere to go, and no skills. Slipping on his shoes, he took one last look around the cheap, dingy rental house. Jackson was still out cold, pizza in one hand and his hard cock in the other as he lay on the floor. He realized that anything would be better than this hell. With that, Matt ran out into the night, dialing a taxi company on his cell phone.

**Many thanks to a great follower and writer, yuki90, for giving me the prompt he's been holding onto!**


	2. Chapter 2

The next few nights were difficult for Matt. He knew didn't have enough money to stay at a hotel, much less find an apartment, so he took a cab into the city. That took most of his money, but there he found a homeless shelter. The first one he applied to was designed for women who had been abused, and they would have helped him find a job and protected him from Jackson. However, they turned him away because he was a man, so he ended up in a regular shelter. He got odd looks from most of the people, since his clothes were new and clean. They gave him food and a place to sleep, but it was crowded, and they ended up turning people away. Matt felt guilty, and resolved to find a job the next day.

During the night, a man tried to choke him to death. He made enough noise to alert the staff, and they pulled the man off of him. From the way they talked, this sort of thing happened a lot. Matt knew he needed to find a permanent residence. His job search the following day was unsuccessful, however. He wasn't even able to get an interview in most places. One hiring manager at a clothing store said that they were turning away people with college degrees, since there were so many applicants. With no school past high school and no experience or skills, Matt was in a seemingly hopeless situation.

In his despair, he decided to spend what little money he had going to a club. He figured that he may as well enjoy one night in the city before he starved to death on the street. Besides, he thought that he could stay in the club until 1 or 2 in the morning, leaving less time for him to be on the streets. Standing at the bar, someone bought him a drink. It occurred to Matt then that he could find one way to stay overnight somewhere for free. That night, he went home with the man who bought him a drink.

For the next few weeks, Matt continued this trend. He spent most nights either at a man's house, or sleeping at a house party with those who had passed out. This became a fairly regular way of surviving; he'd spend the day looking for parties or ways to get money or food, and spend the nights partying and going home with men. He quickly learned the way to get a man to notice him, and the right moves to get taken home. He often stole clothes and sometimes money if the man was still asleep when he left. He started altering his clothes to be more revealing and attractive, and all of the dancing and lack of food made his body tight and lean. Making a point of avoiding alcohol and drugs as well as showering and brushing his teeth at men's houses after they had sex and at the YMCA when he could, Matt managed to keep a clean enough appearance. This meant that men were usually more trusting, since he seemed like a hot guy to take home instead of a homeless man who would steal cash from your wallet.

He got good at picking out the men who had money but were still low brow enough to bring a random hookup home. They were usually not naturally attractive, but well-groomed, and unsure of what to wear so they put on anything expensive under the assumption that it must be nice. At first, he felt bad about using these men. However, after spending one night in an alley, clutching his stomach from pangs of hunger, he quickly decided that these men had extra food, money, and shelter to spare. He only briefly considered prostitution, but figured that as long as men were still willing to take him home without knowing that they'd pay for it, he would avoid anything so dangerous.

And so one night, Matt found himself in a low-end club, sitting on a barstool and scoping out the room. He was getting antsy; it was already midnight and he hadn't found a single bite yet. To make matters worse, it was raining outside. Matt desperately wanted to avoid sleeping in the rain. Eventually, he locked eyes with a man across the room. He was somewhat heavyset and bald except for a goatee. His ill-fitting designer polo and jeans implied that he had money and no idea what to do with it. Essentially, he was the perfect target. Matt held the man's gaze, staring deeply into his dark, beady eyes until he looked away. Smiling, Matt knew he had the man already. He stepped onto the floor, between his stool and the man that would be taking him home that night, and started griding to the music. He moved his body across the floor, dancing over until he was right in front of the man. As the tempo picked up, he moved his body faster and faster, making sure to include lots of hip movement to entice the man. His tight, low riding jeans showed off his ass perfectly as he put on a show for the man, raising his hands above his head so that his cut-off t-shirt would expose as much skin as possible.

Matt turned around, boldly looking straight at the man as the song ended and the next one began. From the look in his eyes, Matt had caught him. Wasting no time, he stepped off the floor and up to the man's table, ready to reel him in. It was getting late, and Matt was tired. He looked forward to wrapping this up quickly so he could take a much-needed shower, eat some of the man's food, and rest.

"Hey," he said casually, taking a seat at the table. There were two other men at the table, who looked like a couple who had dragged their friend along to the club. Matt smirked as he saw the look of confusion and disbelief in the man's eyes; he was eating out of Matt's hand.

"Hi," the man said, quickly staring down at his drink. Something seemed odd about the way he moved, but Matt couldn't figure it out.

"You here with someone?" he asked, looking around.

"Me? Oh, no, just some friends," he said, glancing over at the couple who was deep in conversation.

"Cool," Matt said, nodding as he stretched his arms up, pretending to crack his back in order to show off his flat stomach. He realized once again just how much of an operator he'd become. "This place is kinda lame."

The man looked around. "Yeah," he said with half of a laugh, quickly getting embarrassed and looking back down to his drink.

Matt leaned in close, knowing the man would be able to smell his sweat, feel his warm breath. "I bet your place is much nicer," he whispered, pulling back with a smile.

The man seemed to perk up. "Uhm, yeah, I've got a pretty nice place," he said, glancing back to his friends for a minute.

"Oh, you wanna go?" one of the friends asked, looking up from their conversation.

"I mean, if you're done, but I think I'm just gonna head out," the man responded.

"Alright, we'll go with you. It's dangerous at night," he said, a strange grin on his face. The couple stood and followed the man and Matt out of the door. The man opened an umbrella and held it over the both of them as they ventured out into the heavy rain, which made vision more than a few feet ahead virtually impossible. He watched the man's movements, trying to find a word for what was peculiar about them as they made their way to the street. He knew that there was something off about how he talked and the way he gestured, but a proper description was just out of Matt's reach; the fact that he was tired and starving hardly helped.

Suddenly the word popped into his head. His eyes lit up as it echoed through his brain: _Practiced._ Just as the word found its way into Matt's brain, the three men shoved him hard. The wind was knocked out of his lungs as he was pushed into the open door of a van they were passing. Before he could orient himself, the door was slid closed and the trio got into the front. The engine hummed noisily as the vehicle started moving from the parking spot. In the darkness, Matt could only make out that he was in the back of an empty van, with no windows. Hands were on him from the front seat, fixing handcuffs onto his wrists as he struggled. As the hands left him, Matt felt that his wrists were now cuffed to the wall of the van, allowing him little room to move and no ability to let his arms down.

_Practiced_. Matt chastised himself for not realizing it sooner. He was working Matt over just as much as Matt thought he was working the man. If he'd had his wits about him, Matt would've recognized this long ago. As it was, he was trapped now. His stomach dropped and tears pushed against the back of his eyes as he thought about what his future was going to be. Was he some psychopath that would rape and murder him? Or harvest him for organs? Would anyone ever even know he was missing?

His thoughts flashed to Jackson. He wondered if the man had filed a missing persons report when he left, or if he'd just cut his losses and moved on. Maybe he'd even filed a police report for the fighting back he'd done. Matt assumed that Jackson had probably taken the same course as his stepfather, and just decided against any police involvement. He knew that if he ever saw Jackson again, he would probably die, since he'd emasculated the man. Though now he thought that it would've been much better to die at his hands than whatever sick, twisted torture these people were going to put him through.

"Can you just tell me what you're gonna do to me? And make it quick if I have to die," Matt said calmly, resigning himself to his fate.

"Die? No, nothing like that," the man said, his face an evil sneer. "You're our newest product!"

"Product?" Matt asked, genuinely confused as to what twisted fate they had planned for him as their 'product'.

"Yes, product," the man explain, turning around and talking to him as if he were a child. "We're going to sell you to make money. Ever hear of human trafficking?"

Matt was silent for a moment, taking in all of the possibilities. "So...who are you gonna sell me to?" he asked, sounding impressively level-headed considering the situation.

"Well we don't know yet!" the man said, grinning to show off the rancid gums holding in his artificially white teeth. "We'll start with the whorehouses, then the pimps, then maybe some labor camps... You look strong enough."

Matt didn't dare ask what would happen if he wasn't bought by any of these places. He considered the various options. A whorehouse would clearly be the preferable choice, though he hadn't heard of any such thing outside of Nevada. He would probably have better chances of escaping a pimp, but that hardly seemed like an ideal situation either. Matt had heard about how they usually got their prostitutes addicted to drugs in order to keep them. All of these seemed better than a labor camp though. Like a mine? Matt found himself wondering if he was going to be kept in the country.

The van came to a stop in front of a fancy hotel, making a slow turn into a tiny alley. Two men wearing suits came out of a door and opened the rear doors. The man in the front seat turned on the little overhead light as one man came in through the door. He crouched down, giving Matt an appraising look. He lifted his shirt for a moment, getting close to examine his skin. As he did so, Matt raised a foot to kick him in the knee, spitting in his face at the same moment. The man reeled back, finding his way blindly out of the van.

"Are you fucking kidding? Take your cheap slut somewhere else!" he yelled up to the front seat, slamming the doors as they walked back into the hotel, the examiner wiping his face.

The man driving took off as the man with the goatee turned around, his face red with anger. He grabbed Matt by the hair, bending him down so that his arms were twisted painfully behind him. With his free hand, the man beat Matt on his back and shoulders, pounding him hard enough to leave bruises.

"What the fuck is wrong with you boy?" he barked as he wailed on Matt's torso. After a moment, he calmed down and collected himself, letting go of the man. For his part, Matt managed to keep from giving the man the satisfaction of hearing him scream. "You made a bad decision there. We could have made a lot of money off of them, and you'd be set up real good."

"Maybe you should give him the rundown?" the driver asked, looking over at the man with the goatee.

"Right," he said, turning around. "This is how it is: you're ours now. We're trying to sell you. That place back there was a really fancy set up. Lots of money to go around, so we would've gotten a good price for you. And you would've gotten to stay in a nice hotel. They would've fed you and kept you real nice, given you showers and clothes and stuff. They want their 'escorts' to be as high class as the hotel. You would've just had to bang a few old millionaires. But you threw that out, so I suggest you start behaving so everyone wins."

Matt turned this ultimatum over in his mind. His first instinct was of course to fight anyone who wanted to turn him into a prostitute. However, it would be better than working in a mine until he died. And if he could get a nicer whorehouse (though that did seem like an oxymoron), it might not be so bad. He set his shoulders resolutely, deciding to make the best of a bad situation. Deep down, however, his only thought was of escape. If he was in a nice institution, he would probably be able to run away.

"Maybe... I should get cleaned up?" Matt asked, his voice shaky. He was clearly not going anywhere tonight, so he figured he should at least try to make a good impression. There was glitter on his skin as well as mud and dirt. His armpits smelled and he was still sweaty.

"There you go, that's the spirit," the man said with a smile. "But that's their job. Our is to give you to them, and they'll fix you up."

They made another stop at what looked like a warehouse. They did the same thing again, turning into a small alley barely big enough for the van so that two men could open up the back door. This time, however, the men were wearing chaps and leather harnesses. They were beefy and hairy, and Matt realized that he might get sold to a leather bar. He didn't want his life to be as a sub to these kinky bears, but he still tried to make a good impression as one of the burly men entered the van.

He flexed his muscles slightly and tried to turn to a nice angle. He complied as he lifted his shirt, examining his torso and arms. He looked through his hair and in his mouth, then conferred quietly with the man with the goatee for a moment. "What? He's more than just fodder, damit!" Matt's captor exclaimed before going back into deep conversation. "Get the hell out of my van!"

With this last remark, the man angrily stomped out of the van, closing the doors as the trio drove off. "So what happened?" the guy in the middle of the driver and the man with the goatee asked.

"You wouldn't even believe what he offered me. Said he couldn't use him for anything but group work," the man said angrily. "Trying to fucking stiff me."

Matt suddenly felt a strange emotion. He was relieved to have escaped life in a leather bar, no matter how high end. He would obviously have gotten abused there. But he also felt some kind of...pride? That didn't seem like the right word. But when the man who was obviously the leader of this little operation said that he was worth more than what he was offered, he couldn't help feeling...something. He decided to call it value, since it worked both literally and figuratively. He felt for the first time like he was actually worth something, even if it was money.

As they stopped at the next place, he actually felt like he wanted to sell himself. He felt a certain camaraderie with his captors, since they all shared a goal. This place wasn't as nice as the first one, but clearly not a leather bar. It looked more like a high-end strip bar. This could work. Matt prepared himself as the two men opened the doors, onc stepping in. These men were beefy and dressed in tight t-shirts; clearly bouncers.

The one that came in was rough as he manhandled Matt, making the entire process quick and efficient. He lifted his shirt, examined his scalp, looked into his mouth, pulled down his pants and thong, examined his genitals and lifted his legs high in the air to examine his ass, then put the boy back together. The entire process felt like a two-minute doctor's exam, since it was so professional and objective. The man conferred with the leader of the operation for a moment. He heard the man with the goatee laugh a few times, and the bouncer said something forcefully while clenching his fist.

Finally, the bouncer turned around, a set of keys in his hands. In a swift and fluid motion, he managed to unlock both cuffs and pick the man up, holding both hands behind his back. He led him out of the van, the other bouncer closing the door as the vehicle sped off. He suddenly realized that he would probably never see those people again. The bouncer who had negotiated his price passed him off to the one who had stood by the door, and the three of them walked into the service entrance to the bar, where Matt would begin his new life.


	3. Chapter 3

The three walked through the backstage area, Matt being led by a bouncer who had his wrists in a deathlock behind his back as they followed a larger bouncer. Everyone stared at them as they passed, knowing glances and pitiful stares being exchanged as they went. From what he could see, his original thought had been correct; they were in a strip club. There were men in various states of undress, all muscular and groomed. Most of the naked ones had stylized pubic hair and a cock ring on as they walked around. Costumes were strewn everywhere as the men dressed and undressed in the little area backstage. He could hear the crowds cheering as a DJ introduced the man standing by the curtain wearing a cop uniform. They went into a little room that looked like it was once a bathroom. Now everything had been removed except for the tiles, a drain in the middle of the room, a row of sinks, and mirrors.

Another bouncer entered the room behind them as the one holding Matt let him go. He turned around to face those who had bought him. Two were wearing black t-shirts, but the one who had done the negotiating wore a burnt orange. He realized now that this one was probably some sort of leader. He was tall and muscular, with a bald head and hard set face. He wiped the rain off of his dark skin with a towel, throwing it on the ground. Matt now saw a metal cart next to the three bouncers, bearing multiple tools and implements.

"Alright, I think I should give you the basics," the man in orange said to Matt, taking his attention back from the cart. "I'm Boyd. From now on, you live in a new chain of command. At the top, there's Derek. I'm right below him, then the bouncers, then the customers, then the strippers, then dog shit, then you. Do you understand?"

Matt nodded. "Yes sir," he said, taking the submissive role into which he'd been cast for his entire life.

Boyd nodded. "Good," he said with a smile, pleased that his new prostitute seemed to understand his place. "Now you'll never talk to Derek directly. If you have anything to say, you tell me or one of my boys. Er-bouncers," he amended this while glancing over at the female bouncer who had entered with him and the other male. "But you better not have much to say. The boys out there, they dance. Your job is to finish up our clientele after the dancers get them good and riled up. We take them to the back room, and you do whatever the fuck they say, you got it?"

Matt nodded once again, easily wrapping his head around the seedy behind-the-scenes operation. It was hardly rocket science. Boyd continued. "Alright, so you got a pretty sweet deal. I know those guys, and they're ruthless. You're lucky I gave enough of a fuck to buy you today. If you fuck up, I have no problem selling you right down the line. So keep your head down and do what we tell you. Don't talk to the strippers; they work here legit. You'll be living in the back with the other boys. You don't leave your room at night for anything. There's a bathroom attached. You'll also have your own room to work in. You stay in there til we tell you to come out. When a John buys you, the bouncer at the door will let you know what he paid for. You give him that and nothing else. If he tries anything, the bouncer will be listening in. We run smooth and well, so you better not get in the way. Any questions?"

"No, sir," Matt said submissively. He was actually impressed by the operation that they had running. Considering the possibility of working in a mine, this didn't seem half bad. Still he knew that he'd have to escape eventually.

"Alright, we're gonna get you cleaned up," Boyd said, snapping his fingers. The two goons behind him stepped forward, one pushing the cart and the other picking up a hose that had previously been hidden by the cart. It was attached to the floor, presumably where there had once been a toilet. "Strip."

Matt obeyed, getting the feeling that Boyd wasn't the type of man accustomed to asking things twice. He quickly slipped off his t-shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, and thong. One of the bouncers picked everything up with a large pair of tweezers, putting them in bags and writing something on them in black marker before writing something on a clipboard. He then took a picture of Matt on his phone, presumably sending it to someone who keeps some sort of records.

The bouncer then took a can of shaving cream off of the cart, spraying a generous portion onto his hand. He told Matt how to stand as he spread the foam all over his body, covering his chest, armpits, feet, face, most of his pubes, and his ass. Jackson had generally kept him pretty hairy, and being homeless hadn't been the ideal situation for shaving. He was lucky when he could manage to shave his face. He was embarrassed as the man spread the shaving cream all over his naked body. Matt was somewhat used to the idea of his body being on display, but he could smell himself, and he knew that the bouncer could, too. The long day and dance-filled night did not leave him smelling nicely. In fact, he was fairly certain that, despite the quick showers at various men's houses, he had been steadily getting more pungent as the days went on. The bouncer shaved off the parts he had put the shaving cream on, leaving him fairly hairless except for his arms and legs, as well as a stylish little patch just around his penis.

He was then handed a bar of soap, and the other bouncer sprayed him with a heavy blast of tepid water without warning. Matt stabled himself after the initial shock, quickly rubbing the soap over his body to clean himself. He scrubbed all over, getting only a brief reprieve when the bouncer took his soap and handed him a bottle of shampoo. When it was all over, Matt was cleaner than he had been in weeks.

"This isn't the normal shower protocol, we just have to ensure that you're clean. No lice or anything. Speaking of which, do you have any STDs. We'll find out, so don't lie," Boyd said, handing him a scratchy white towel as he shivered in the cold air.

"N-no sir," he said, wiping the water off of his body.

"Good. And remember, we'll find out if you're lying," Boyd said as he made his way out of the room. "We'll be right back with some clothes. You get dry."

Matt stood in white tiled room, a million thoughts in his head. He figured that there was no way he could escape right now; this was probably a test to see if he would try. Worry crossed his mind as he thought about all of the sex he'd been having. He always used protection, but he wasn't positive that he didn't have an STD. He wondered how many men had been in this room before, scrubbed clean before forced into a life of prostitution. What happened to all of them?

His thoughts quieted as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Standing stark naked, rubbed raw and pink from the intense shower, with much less body hair than he was used to seeing. Parallels connected in his mind between him and a newborn baby, and it seemed fitting, since he was apparently starting a new life. He now looked like a whore; more so now than ever in his life. How was he going to get through this? What was he going to do? He clearly couldn't just live as a prostitute forever. Could he? Why not? What part of his personality was totally against that? Hadn't he basically been a prostitute for Jackson? Really, who was he, even?

Matt never really had a plan for his life. For the first seven years, he lived happily with his mother, content to see what life would bring to him, and secure that his mother would be there to make sure that he was successful and happy in life. From her death until he was seventeen, Matt did the best he could to get through each day, no real goal, direction, or sense of self. For a short while in senior year, he had hope for the future. By the time he reached the suburbs, all of this was dashed and he was back in the same place. Suddenly, he had another break, another escape. Obviously his new start hadn't exactly turned out a whole lot better. This time, however, he couldn't pull himself out of the hole. He was still directionless and totally without any idea of who he was. He had been defined by how others had chosen to treat him, and sought out this kind of identity. He found it again, and tonight he started a new life, defined by how his clients chose to treat him, Boyd becoming the new man in his life.

At this point, Matt shut down completely. There was no hope to thrive, no hope to do anything but go through the rest of his life and die however Boyd saw fit. He was constantly at the mercy of others, and now he accepted his fate as everyone else's property. His whole life had been spent as an object to be owned; he never even had an opportunity to dress how he wanted. His entire appearance had been mandated by the men he relied upon. One of the bouncers finally came in and handed him a stack of clothes. She stood by the door as Matt dressed in front of the mirror. After he was finished dressing, the woman took a little black pencil from her pocket and drew dark circles around his eyes in eyeliner.

He'd been given a red, strappy thong, a black pair of leather short-shorts, a black tank top, and a loose-fitting red mesh shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he'd been mistaken. _Now_ he looked more like a whore than ever before. The shorts rode low, revealing most of his abdomen and buttcrack as well as exposing his thong. Somehow, the image looked wrong with his face attached. His body had gotten lean and muscular from dancing and starving, and his skin had gotten tanned from being outside during the daytime. His hair was longer than he usually kept it, his curls shaggy and crawling down his forehead. He barely even recognized his face with his hollow cheekbones and dark, seductive eyes. The man in the mirror was a complete stranger.

"This isn't forever," the bouncer said, standing awkwardly by the door. Matt looked up at her. "I mean, most of the boys usually leave here. This is a nice place, you'll probably manage to get out one way or another. Lots of boys pay off their debts and are given the option to leave, or impress Derek enough to become a dancer."

Matt stared at her with hollow eye, barely even registering her words. She was pretty, but had a clear "don't fuck with me" aura about her. The kind gesture seemed somewhat awkward for her as she chewed her lip and averted his eyes. "Then what?" Matt asked despondently.

"What does it matter?" she asked, shrugging her delicately muscular shoulders. "How much better or worse could it really be than living in an apartment with a desk job that you hate? Life sucks, you gotta just try to make something of it."

This actually managed to cheer him up a bit. She had a point: even if he had a more typical life, it still wouldn't be great. Granted, freedom really did come with its benefits, but when he really was free, he wasn't kept as well as he would be in this place. He managed a little smile. "Thanks," he said, his hands instinctively pulling on the tiny shorts in an attempt to cover more of his legs. He only succeeded in exposing more of his pelvis. "I-I'm Matt."

"Erica," he said, with a brief and impatient smile. "We should go, you'll have a lot to get used to. Your shoes are out here. I'll show you where your room is and where you're going to sleep at night. You'll spend most of your time in your room, and from what I hear, most of it is spent waiting between customers."

Matt followed her as they went out of the door, glad to feel as if someone in this place already cared about him to some degree. That was more than he'd ever had before.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

He didn't get any clients that night, since he'd been brought in fairly late and nobody knew him yet. His room was small and plush; one of many down a hall. There were almost ten rooms in this hallway, each with a prostitute inside. His room had a bed with thick, comfortable sheets, a small coffee table with two plush armchairs, and a refrigerator filled with alcohol and snacks for the patrons. He was instructed to sit in the chair and wait until he was bought. His duties when off the clock were to keep the room tidy and keep the fridge stocked. He was allowed to keep his door open, and most of the other boys talked to each other. This first night, Matt didn't talk to anyone. There was another hall on the opposite side of the building, both branching off of the backstage area where the dancers readied themselves. Between the two hallways was the bathroom in which he'd been induced into his new life and another door leading into the bedroom and bathroom. All of the prostitutes slept in one room filled with several bunk beds, military style. The beds were quite uncomfortable and small. In the night, Boyd came in and held him down by the neck, quietly raping him from behind while everyone else seemed to sleep.

"Remember that I own you, bitch," he said, leaning down to come to face to face with him. "You're mine."

Later that night, a boy even younger than Matt hung himself in the bathroom using his bedsheets.


End file.
